Stupid Derek
by the diggler
Summary: Stiles should've known better. Stupid werewolves with their stupid werewolf hearing. He should've known better than to moan Derek's name, no matter how quietly. But stupid Derek, with his stupid face, and beard, and abs… And okay, Stiles should've known better than to leave his bedroom window open while getting off. Because yeah, stupid Derek with his stupid lurking ways...


**Warnings**: PWP smut, Feral!Derek, Possessive!Derek, Mildly Dubious Consent, fingerfucking, rimming, atm, scent!kink, scent marking, mating

**Author's Notes**: So this is my first foray into the Teen Wolf fandom. It's the usual masturbation-interupptus trope, but I just wanted to have a go at getting into Stiles' head. And it was insane lol ;p

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><p>Stiles should've known better.<p>

Stupid werewolves with their stupid werewolf hearing.

He should've known better than to moan Derek's name, no matter how quietly.

But stupid Derek, with his stupid face, and beard, and abs…

And okay, Stiles should've known better than to leave his bedroom window open while getting off.

Because yeah, stupid Derek with his stupid lurking ways.

So Stiles is not so much surprised when Derek appears in his bedroom window than he is embarrassed. Because, hello, naked here!

But even as Stiles flails to covers himself with his hands, he can feel his cock twitch with arousal against his palms, because Derek's eyes are glowing with near feral interest, his well-muscled chest straining against his t-shirt with every panted breath, lips curled in a low growl as teeth extend with intent to _mark_… Stiles didn't think it was possible to be so turned-on and so scared shitless at the same time. But that's always been the way when it comes to this stupid werewolf – the adrenaline of fear so mixed up with his ever-present teenage hormones that Stiles can't tell the difference anymore.

"Uh… Derek?" Stiles squeaks when the werewolf makes no move to break their strange standstill. And as if Stiles' voice was the invitation he was waiting for, Derek drops down from the windowsill, into Stiles' room.

"Woah woah woah!" Stiles scampers backwards on his bed, drawing his knees up to cover himself more as he retreats into the corner.

It's a mistake. When Stiles exposes his backside in favor of huddling up into a ball, Derek's attention is drawn to it, nostrils flaring.

Stiles is mortified.

Stupid werewolves with their stupid sense of smell.

He'd only been up to two fingers, he'd barely even used any lube at all!

But there's no denying what he's been up to now. Derek knows. And Stiles knows Derek knows from the certainty with which Derek climbs onto his bed, grabbing his ankles and yanking at his legs until his body uncurls, dragged down the mattress and completely exposed.

"Derek!" Stiles whimpers again, shaking under Derek's heated gaze, completely at his mercy.

Lightning-fast, Derek's hand shoots out, grabbing Stiles' wrist in a grip hard enough to bruise. Stiles fears the worst when Derek yanks his hand close, those canines look pretty sharp after all, but then, with surprising gentleness, Derek merely runs his nose along the length of Stiles' fingers.

The same fingers Stiles' had buried inside himself, thinking about stupid Derek.

And that's just… wrong. _Dirty_-wrong.

Dirty-_hot_.

And when Derek takes those fingers into his mouth and _sucks, _Stiles' whole body shudders with how dirty-hot that is. It's a good thing his dad isn't home, with how loud he moans then, eyes rolling as his cock _throbs_ between his legs. The way Derek licks and tastes his fingers, Stiles can't help but imagine how that warm mouth would feel around his dick, and he can feel himself drooling pre-come at the thought.

He knows Derek can smell it, the way his nostrils suddenly twitch and flare. Stupid werewolves with their stupid werewolf senses.

Wait, maybe that's not such a bad thing, because that's when Derek dips his head down between Stiles' legs, dangerously clawed hands teasing the skin of Stiles' thighs as Derek pushes them apart.

But just when Stiles starts to think Derek might not be such a stupid werewolf after all, Derek ignores his straining erection altogether, and plunges his tongue into Stiles' hole.

Stiles' yelps in surprise, his body instinctively closing in on itself at the intrusion. But Derek holds him open (stupid werewolves with their stupid werewolf strength), and takes what he wants, tonguing insistently at Stiles' entrance.

Okay, so that's not so bad either. In fact, it's pretty fucking fantastic. And pretty soon Stiles is pretty sure he's going to die from the ecstasy that is Derek Hale tongue-fucking his ass.

That is, unless he can come first. No, he _needs_ to come first. There's no way Stiles is going to die before he comes. He reaches down for his cock, grabbing it in his fist, but then stupid, _stupid_ Derek yanks his hand away.

"No! Bad Derek! Down boy!" Stiles yells in frustration, and Derek… Derek honest to god, _snarls_ at him, glowing eyes, snapping teeth and all. "Oh fuck," Stiles whimpers, recoiling, before Derek shoves his own fingers right in Stiles' mouth.

Now, Stiles can appreciate that this is probably the best way to get him to shut up. But he soon realizes it's more than that when he hears the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, and sees Derek's arm moving in that familiar jacking motion, in time with the thrusting of his fingers. Derek wants to feel Stiles' mouth on him too.

Belatedly Stiles also realizes he can't feel any claws in his mouth, just human fingers, rubbing against his tongue, and Stiles is momentarily amazed that Derek has been that careful at least. In fact, as feral and forceful that Derek's been, he hasn't really hurt Stiles at all.

Stupid, considerate-even-when-feral werewolf.

Stiles barely gets a chance to reciprocate the favor from earlier and suck on Derek's fingers in return, before stupid Derek is pulling them back out. But before Stiles can complain again, he feels those same spit-slick fingers, pressing against his still-wet hole.

Stiles clenches his fists in the sheets as Derek's fingers circle his rim. Derek doesn't even have to hold his legs apart anymore, the way Stiles is wantonly splayed open for him, desperate for it.

"Yeah, fuck, Derek. Come _on_," he mewls, squirming and wriggling against the tease of Derek's fingertips. And as if all he was waiting for was Stiles' permission, Derek pushes in.

Stiles wails. _Wails _as Derek hits his prostrate on the first jab, and then doesn't stop hitting it, over and over, until Stiles is all but writhing on his fingers, sobbing and cursing, rambling incoherently. He barely even notices when Derek leans over him, nosing into Stiles' arched neck and snuffling across his skin, sniffing at what must be nothing but boy-sweat and teenage-arousal. Stupid werewolves and their stupid scenting.

Derek can't seem to get enough of it though, snuffling down his neck to his chest, nosing at his nipples and making him moan at the tease of it, puffing into his armpits and down his sides, making him laugh. And then Derek keeps going, following the happy-trail of hair down Stiles' stomach until his nose is buried in the hair at his crotch.

Stiles nearly sobs with relief when Derek takes his neglected erection in hand, only to groan with frustration when he realizes Derek is only positioning it to smell him better, running his nose down the length of Stiles' dick like he had with Stiles' fingers at the beginning of this fucked up debacle of a seduction.

"Derek, please," Stiles begs. And again, as if Derek was just waiting for the words, his mouth closes around the tip of Stiles cock. "Oh jesus, _yes,_" Stiles groans as Derek suckles him, but his joy is short-lived, as when he instinctively tries to push deeper, Derek doesn't let him, holding him still with a firm hand on the inside of his thigh. (_Argh!_ Stupid werewolf!) No, Derek just continues mouthing at him, dragging his lips down the sides of Stiles' length, tonguing his sac – exploring like he did with his nose, like he's smelling through taste – gently, and delicately, while his fingers continue thrusting into Stiles mercilessly, harder, and faster, three-fingers wide now.

It's good enough. It's _way_ more than good enough. Like _mind-blowingly_ good enough. Pretty soon, Stiles is screaming, thrashing on the bed from the dual stimulation. And when Derek starts sucking on his balls, well… it doesn't take long. Stiles can feel his climax surging, so close he can practically taste it.

Unfortunately, it's as if Derek can too. Like he can smell it coming or something. Or maybe he can tell from the way Stiles' balls tighten in his mouth. Stiles doesn't really care (the stupid, _stupid _werewolf). Because just when he's on the edge of blowing his load, Derek pulls away, sitting back to watch with glowing eyes as Stiles shoots it all over himself.

Of course Derek doesn't swallow it. Nope. Apparently that is _not_ a thing werewolves do. Because they are stupid. Instead, Derek _smears_ himself in it, leaning over to nuzzle his face in it, slip-sliding his body all over it. And as if that wasn't enough, _then_ Derek sits back to rub it in more thoroughly - all over those hard pecs, heel rubbing hard around the aureole of each nipple, then all the way down those stupidly perfect abs, lower, and lower, tugging at the heavy sac nested in the dark curls between his legs, before lubing up his cock and pumping himself with it… Damn Stiles came _a lot_.

But when Derek removes his fingers from where they're seated deep inside Stiles body, and brings them up to his face, tracing his nose along them in that now-familiar manner, Derek loses it, eyes rolling back into his head with a wild snarl. Stiles watches in fascinated awe as Derek then begins to smear those fingers through the come on his jaw, rubbing it through his beard and alternately licking and sniffing at them, panting and grunting like a true animal as he fists himself faster and faster… Until suddenly, his eyes snap open again, and he hunches over Stiles, hand darting down to grab at the inseam of Stiles' thigh and splay him open once more, exposing his finger-fucked hole to the hot spray of Derek's come.

"Yeah Derek, that's it," Stiles breathes, spreading himself wider for it, shuddering at each splash that hits as Derek snaps and growls every kind of werewolf sound short of an all-out howl.

Afterwards, when Derek's spent every last drop on Stiles' skin, Stiles isn't the least bit surprised when he feels Derek's fingers rubbing into the mess – pushing it into Stiles' hole and smearing it inside him as well as out, carefully palming his spent cock and balls, lightly tracing his nipples… But when Derek reaches towards his face, Stiles grabs his wrist, stopping him.

Derek snarls at that, lip curling as he flashes his teeth in anger. But Stiles _isn't_ stupid, and he's got this little game worked out now. Guiding Derek's hand towards his mouth, he smears the come on Derek's fingers across his lips, before licking it off with a smirk.

Stiles doesn't know how he expected Derek to react to that. But he doesn't expect Derek to go utterly silent, and still, staring at Stiles with shocked disbelief in his eyes… before they flash werewolf bright, and Derek lunges forward, pressing their lips together for the first time – no – _claiming_ Stiles' lips, with a kind of desperate roughness that tells Stiles that maybe this isn't a game at all.

"Mine," Derek growls into his mouth – the only thing he's said since he climbed into Stiles bedroom.

Aw crap.

Stiles should've known.

Stupid werewolves and their stupid mating rituals.

_~ fin_


End file.
